Gloam
by Lordy Duffano
Summary: Gert Cygne has come to Spoons, a sleepy town where sunlight shines only once ever 2 billion years, not counting leap years. But what could be waiting for her in the crepuscular, gloamy shade? Perhaps an obnoxious spoof of everyones FAVORITE BOOK ZOMG!
1. Prologue

Alright pooky-doodle-bums. I have returned from the dead to mock the hellish monster that is Stephenie Meyer and her minion readers. I'd say that I hope I don't offend anyone, but, frankly, I hope very much to offend rabid Twilight fans. All those fans or non-fans pleasantly disposed to a (more or less) friendly joke are welcome. I'll try to play nice, and try to be at least creative in what I'm sure will be labeled my rampant unoriginality.

Disclaimer: If Twilight were mine, I would be simultaneously extremely rich, and utterly ashamed of myself. Stephenie Meyer can have it.

Oh, and yes, I did read the book, so don't even start. The first one anyway. I stopped reading the second one because it made my soul bite chunks out of itself, then spit them into a blender and make soul-chunk smoothies. But I will continue reading if I get that far in my spoof, I promise.

* * *

Prologue

Gert had never thought much about how she was going to die. In fact, Gert had never thought much about anything, especially in the last few months.

But now that she was thinking about it, Gert thought that she would prefer to die in a meadow. A meadow was a happy place. And Gert wanted her death to be happy.

Her beautiful brow crinkled in confusion over the concept of happy death. And it crinkled still more as Gert pondered whether crinkled was perhaps the best dictional choice to describe her look of confusion. It was a confusing confusion. So confusing, in fact, that Gert forgot what she was confused about.

Now what had she been thinking of?

Oh right, death. Yes. She wanted her death to be happy. Daisies, sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns were preferable, but she would take a plain meadow any day, just because she was unselfish like that.

The man across the room from her was staring at her. This reminded Gert that she was about to die, and that made her rather sad. But this had been her choice, and she wouldn't regret it.

Neither would she regret the many fateful decisions she had made recently, before and during her residence in the sleepy town called Spoons. In a way, it had all been worthwhile. At the moment, that way was eluding her, but that was soon to be a moot point.

As the man before her stepped forward, Gert knew she was dead.

* * *

Oh yes, I am indeed going through the book systematically. You bastards are reaping the benefits of my renewed pain and agony. Congrats.

I wouldn't expect much by way of brilliance (or anything above mediocrity) from this. Any little rays I manage are pure luck. Please also do not expect me to keep to my own sorry canon. I have no plan for this, it will be made up on the fly, and I'm sure Gert & Co. will develop numerous dissociated identities. You have been forewarned.

Tell me if you love it, tell me if you hate it, either way I'll get a giggle! And if anyone has suggestions, requests, legitimate criticism etc. by all means lob them my way.


	2. Chapter 1

So far so good, peeps. A special thank you to Aiedail for being a reasonable fan of the book. Yay!

Okay, I'm sorry this took a while. It's astonishingly difficult to spoof Meyer… there's just so much pointless shit to wade through that you just get disheartened and kinda want to chop of your fingers and never write again. Besides, at first I was planning on doing this as like a hardcore pastiche—go blow for blow with Meyer. But I will do myself bodily harm if I try that. So no.

So here's what I have for now. Huzzah.

Disclaimer: Really, this is a passive aggressive form of therapy. Meyer can take it.

* * *

Chapter One

Gertrude Cygne sat staring dolefully out of the car window as the ultra-sunny landscape of Arizona passed by her. The town of Unicorn, Arizona, just outside of Phoenix, had been her home for as long as she could remember, and she loved it. Two days ago, she never would have thought that she would leave it.

Gertrude stifled a sigh. Her mom already didn't believe her when she said that moving to Spoons would be a fun learning experience that would teach her things in a fun way. Sighing was a dead giveaway-- even more so than dolefully staring out at the sunshine.

"Gert," her mother started.

"I promise, Mom. I want to do this," Gert lied dutifully.

"No, Gert, your fly is down."

Startled, Gert sheepishly closed the barn door.

And with that, the anonymous narrator decided it was time to go on another long narration. Besides, it was like a twenty minute drive to the airport and the time needed to be filled somehow.

Gert hated Spoons. Not the utensils, the place. In utensil form, Gert was quite fond of spoons. They were scoopy. And they reflected her upside down. This had fascinated Gert for hours when she was a little girl. That and the scoopiness.

But when Spoons was a place, that was a completely different story. Spoons the town did not reflect her upside down and it was not scoopy. It was rainy. Gert detested rain. It was wet. Gert did not enjoy being wet, ever since a traumatic experience when she was three and had been caught in a rainstorm and then been fondled by a psychotic birthday clown. Oddly she associated the feeling of violation with rain, and not clowns.

Spoons was not the place for people who disliked rain to the degree that Gert did. The sun only shone every two billion years, not counting leap years, and even then it was only for about five minutes. It was rather like Venus, but with less gravity.

"Gert, are you absolutely positive that you want to do this?" her mom asked anxiously, mere seconds before Gert was about to board.

"Yeah, Mom. It'll be great. People do stuff like this all the time. You know, completely uproot themselves so that their mother can saunter off with men that wear funny pants."

Gert's mother sighed. "He's a baseball player, Gert. The pants are not his job."

Gert nodded vigorously. "Exactly. So have fun. I'll be fine living with Bob."

"You know you'll have to call him Dad," her mother reminded her. She ignored the stewardess that was glaring at them pointedly for holding up the boarding process.

Gert's face fell a little. "Oh. Right." She straightened her shoulders and hugged her mother. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Gert. Be good. And call me if you need anything."

Six hours later, Gert hopped off the plane into the torrential downpour awaiting her in Spoons. She sighed. Bob hurried towards her with an umbrella.

"Gert! It's wonderful to see you!" he enthused, trying to hug her with the umbrella still in his hand, and getting them both thoroughly wet.

"Hi, B-- Dad," Gert said through a plastic-looking smile.

"Well, c'mon. The cruiser's just over there."

Gert tried not to be annoyed as she followed her father to his sheriff's cruiser. It was an endless trial to have a father that was the sheriff of a small town. She could never get in 

trouble, because Bob would probably be the one arriving on scene, or he would find out about it quickly enough from whichever subordinate he sent instead.

Technically this wasn't a problem, since Gert lacked the coordination or social skills necessary for most rebellious, dangerous teenage activities. Oh, and the fact that she had only spent about a month cumulative time in Spoons in the past twelve years. That made it a bit hard to throw raucous parties or drive recklessly.

"Dad, are you going to have to drive me to school every day?" Gert asked after they were in the car, her bag tossed carelessly in the back. "Because that's totally lame to be driven to high school by your dad."

Bob chuckled in an annoying knowing fashion. "Not at all, Gertie-pie." Gert restrained the urge to dig out her spleen with a bobby pin. "I bought you a car already."

Gert was torn between lamenting the lameness of her car being bought by her dad, and the relief of not having to put forth the effort to buy it herself. So she settled for an awkward grimace that could hopefully be construed as a grateful smile.

"I just hoped it would help you feel a little more at home here. I know Spoons isn't your favorite place, but I thought if you had more freedom, you'd be a little happier. You know, you wouldn't have to be stuck here all the time," Bob explained.

Gert was shocked by this apparent consideration of her needs, to the point that she actually sounded genuine with her thanks.

That is, until they reached the house, and Gert saw what a pile of crap it was. The bumper seemed held on by some duct tape, and most of the front hood was covered in some spectacular pattern of corrosion. Recalling some vague memory of "kicking the wheel" being important in the purchase of a car, Gert gingerly tested this heuristic out. There was a loud clanging sound, and the hubcap shot off the car into a nearby tree. Gert winced and hurried to follow Bob into the house.

"Dad, does my car actually function?" she asked as she shed her raincoat and hung it by the door.

Bob looked disappointed that she had actually thought to ask that question. "Er... of course, sweetheart."

Gert attempted to look threatening, and crossed her arms. "Dad."

"Um... kind of?"

"Kind of?" Gert shouted.

"Well sometimes it has a little trouble starting. But it runs!"

Gert rolled her eyes. "Whatever. I'm going to unpack."

Which she did. After unpacking, Gert promptly sat and moped for hours until Bob coaxed her down to eat dinner. After dinner, she promptly resumed her moping, until she fell asleep. After falling asleep, she promptly dreamed of moping.

When she woke up in the morning, Gert had given up on life. She expected nothing good to come of the future. She moped through getting ready for school, she moped through eating breakfast. She moped as she put on her golashes and her rain coat. She moped the whole way out to her trash heap of a car. And she moped as she drove to school.

There was a lot of general moping going on. Bob watched this and rolled his eyes. Hopefully it was a phase.

Luckily there was less moping occurring once Gert got to school. She was given helpful advice by the matronly office secretary, and cheerfully sent off with many good wishes for her success.

Gert surprised herself by successfully navigating the halls. Her new found pessimism had convinced her that she would be hopelessly lost. It also assured her that this unexpected aptitude could not last. So she managed to find the correct class and second guess herself until she was ten minutes late anyway. The entire class turned when she tripped over three desks in a row. Never before had they seen such ineptitude in a human being. They didn't know what to make of it.

"Ah, you must be Gertrude Cygne," said the teacher, Mr. Adams.

"Gert, actually," she corrected him. Everyone wondered how on earth _Gert_ was any better than _Gertrude_.

"Right… well, Gert, please have a seat. We're just about to start."

Gert quickly sat in a chair, attempting-- but sadly failing—to not upset everything around her. Several people sighed as they picked all that she had knocked over and reorganized their belongings. Gert shifted sheepishly. Mr. Adams rolled his eyes and went back to teaching his class.

Gert decided that it was going to be a long, horrifically trying day.

* * *

:sigh:


End file.
